


30-Love

by Viscariafields



Series: FAM2k18 [7]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age II
Genre: Cunnilingus, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-22
Updated: 2018-12-22
Packaged: 2019-09-24 11:19:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,959
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17099621
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Viscariafields/pseuds/Viscariafields
Summary: Hawke brings a present over to Fenris, but things don't go exactly how she expects. In fact, things go much, much better than anticipated.





	30-Love

“I have something here that I thought you would like to see.” Hawke had lugged the enormous blade across Hightown, but by now no one gave her odd looks as the embarked on her endeavors. Some even cheerfully waved to her as the blade scraped across the ground, giving off sparks.

“A blade of mercy,” Fenris said, taking it. He waved his hand across it, causing it to glow. “It’s a high honor for a Tevinter nobleman to possess one of these. I… can imagine how you got your hands on one.”

“Don’t you mean ‘can’t’?”

“No.”

Hawke opened her pack, looking for her other presents for him. “I was going to give it to you, along with—”

“I don’t want this,” he snarled, shoving it back at her.

Hawke accepted the sword from him, rolling her eyes as she dumped it on the floor with a clang. She continued rummaging through her bag. “If you let me finish, I was going to say I also brought some holy water from the chantry, some paint, and some Qunari black powder.”

Fenris altered between glaring at the sword and frowning at Hawke. He folded his arms across his chest and leaned against the wall, waiting for an explanation.

“I was trying to think of who Tevinter hated more—the Qunari, the Southern Chantry, or uppity ex-slaves.”

“You forgot Orlais.”

“And then I thought,” she continued, ignoring the interruption, “Why not invoke all three while destroying something so important, nay, _sacred_ to Tevinter nobility?”

A hint of a smile curled his lips. “You’re going to blow up the sword? With Qunari black powder?”

“I thought _we_ could blow up the sword. After dousing it in Southern holy water.”

Fenris considered this, his mouth opening to speak three or four times before he simply shook his head. He gazed warmly at her as he asked, “And the paint?”

“I thought you might like to write a message on it. Or sign your name, maybe. Whatever you want. But if you don’t want to help me desecrate such a _revered_ Tevinter artifact, I guess I could go find some other ex-slave with beautiful handwriting…” Hawke scooped the sword up and slowly turned for the door, dragging her feet in exaggerated steps. Fenris’s hand shot out to grab the handle of the sword.  

“Give it here.” Hawke didn’t loosen her grip, so Fenris pulled her along with it. She bumped up against his chest and grinned. This close to him she could see the yellow in his irises. For once his eyes looked calm, peaceful. Hawke felt a tugging inside of her, something old and painful and dangerous. She should probably look away, but she wanted to steal this moment and hold it for as long as she could. Fenris seemed to agree, a smile playing at his lips. It drew her gaze, and she pulled herself away before she could do something she would regret.

She leaned her back against the wall, arms safely crossed over her chest, where they could do no harm. “Do you know what you are going to write?”

“I have some ideas.” Fenris set the sword across his table, but he did not reach for the paint. Hawke waited, drumming her fingers on her arm, as he paced in front of her gift. Finally he turned to her. “When I came to Kirkwall, I never thought I would stay for so long.”

The change in conversation was hard to follow. “I have some theories about that. I think this city is cursed and nobody can actually leave. The Qunari? You? Me? I'm certain Isabela was hiding here the whole time." 

"You've thought about leaving?"

"Only every day for the past three years." Fenric snorted, but he looked concerned. She shrugged. "The estate was my mother’s dream, not mine.”

His pacing intensified. "What is yours?" 

 _You,_ she thought, suddenly, painfully, _you, you, you._ She swallowed. “I’m not certain.  I just… I hope that wherever life takes me, you’ll be there, too.”

“That is also my hope,” he said with a relieved smile. “No, I… that is insufficient.” He crossed the room to her and took her hand in his. “Hawke, I don’t just want you to be there, I want us to share the future.”

She looked at his hand, then back at his face. She felt as if the floor had come out from under her. He couldn’t be saying what she thought he was saying. There must be some other interpretation, some other meaning she wasn’t grasping.

“Hawke, I love you.”

The words reverberated through her like electricity. She had never expected him to say the words, to even think the words. She knew she was supposed to respond with words of her own, but her impulses always got the better of her. She launched herself at him. He was ready as her lips crashed into his, wrapping his arms around her waist. A voice in her head told her to slow down, not to repeat the mistakes of last time, but Fenris had her pushed against the wall, his lips on her neck. She tried to form words, something more than just the soft moans he coaxed from her as his teeth grazed her skin. His thigh pushed its way between her legs, and even through her clothes, the friction to her core was unbearable. She needed so much more.

Her hands slipped under his armor, but he was faster. His warm palm pressed flat against her abdomen. She shuddered, and finally found her voice. “Fenris,” she started, but his hand had moved upward, a gentle squeeze of her ribcage, a thumb brushing over her nipple through her breast band. Instinctively she squeezed her legs around his.

“Hawke,” he growled in her ear.

“We should slow down,” she gasped, every fiber of her being disagreeing with herself.

“I intend to go slow.” His thumb now tracing a slow circle across her breast.

She steeled herself. “No, we… we can’t make the same mistakes as last time.”

His hand stilled. He dropped his forehead to rest against her own. She felt the words on her lips as he said, “We won’t. I won’t let it be like last time.”

Her hands cradled his face. His lips hovering this close, she couldn’t help but taste them. Once, twice, small kisses to stave off the fire within her. “Tell me what you want.”

He leaned forward, his breath tickling her ear. “First, I want to tear these clothes off you. Then I’m going to make you come.”

Hawke regretted every buckle that stood between her and step two. Fenris was methodical, dexterous, and he didn’t stop kissing her for a second. Her lips, her ears, her neck all burned with him. An eternity of tormenting waiting passed before she was finally free of her leathers. She had only managed to rid him of his tunic when Fenris’s hands slid below her ass and he hoisted her up. She wrapped her legs around him, and he pushed her back into the wall, hard through his breeches, the friction through her smalls heavenly, but just not enough.

“Remember what I said about going slow?”

His hips thrust again, and her head dropped back of its own accord. “Mhm.”

“I think three years was slow enough.”

Fenris chuckled softly, puffs of breath against her neck. He pulled her away from the wall and carried her to the bed, dropping her lightly.  His lips were immediately on her thigh, eliciting a rough gasp from Hawke. She squeezed her eyes shut as his teeth grazed the sensitive skin. His fingers trailed upward, and she tried not to squirm, to meet him halfway. He reached for her smalls, hooking them and pulling them off her. And then his tongue was on her.

He was persistent. Slow circles elicited low moans. Her back was arching, and she wanted to ride him, buck against the slow tempo of his tongue. He sensed her desperation, deepening the pressure. Her fingers grasped at anything, trying to hold on, to withstand the waves of pleasure emanating through her. He plunged a finger into her, then two, curling inside of her while his tongue worked. The tension was too good, too much, and she crashed over the edge of her orgasm as it pulsed through her body.

When Fenris stretched out next to her in the bed, it could have been seconds or days later. She turned to stare at his face, the face of the man who loved her, and she didn’t care to look at another face for the rest of her life.

“When I came over here tonight I had planned on an explosion, but this was altogether a different kind.”

Fenris laughed. She admired his features, unburdened and easy, and her heart tightened and expanded. If they were wrong, if this was another single night that would not see a recurrence, she had to remember him this way. She reached out to touch his cheek, and he held his hand over hers. Maker, his eyes were magic. When she realized how much he would hate that thought, she laughed.

She kissed him, and he responded fiercely, his lust unslaked. His body pressed against hers, his tongue in her mouth. She wanted to respond in kind, to make him feel as good and as loved as she did, but it didn’t work that way for him. She pulled away, breathless, and whispered, “I will only touch you if you want me to. If you ask.”

Fenris dropped his forehead to hers, inhaling deeply, then nodded. “I want you to touch me. With your hands.”

Hawke reached down to unlace his breeches. He was already hard, straining against them. A soft sigh escaped his lips as she wrapped her fingers around his girth. She started slow, watching his reaction, studying him for signs of discomfort or pleasure.

“Kiss me,” he growled, and her lips were on him, his tongue in her mouth. She continued pumping her hands, swiping her thumb over the tip in a smooth circle, and his head fell back, leaving his neck exposed. She continued her assault there, cataloging away each spot that elicited a sigh, a moan, a tremble.

“Bite me.” She grazed her teeth down his neck. His breaths were growing shallow, his muscles tense as she nipped at his ear. He was close, so close, and she wanted to drive him right over that edge.  

“Stop,” he groaned into her collarbone. Hawke ceased all movement, pulling her hands away from him, unfinished. “I’m sorry,” he panted, “I’m sorry.”

She held her hand up to his face, bringing him to look at her. “Don’t be sorry,” she urged him, “I want you to have what you want. Only as much as you want.”

For a moment, she was afraid he would get up, leave, but he settled against her, his breath slowing. His head dropped back to her shoulder, and she relished the weight of him against her. He was solid, real. He was _here_.

“And what if I never want to…?” He looked doubtful. Disappointed. It was the last thing she wanted to see on his face tonight.

“Then we never will.” He blinked in surprise, but she could still read the skepticism on him. “Fenris, all those years of waiting and _longing_ for you… of course I thought about _that_ , but mostly I thought about this,” she said, gently squeezing her arms around him. “Having you here, like this. I love you, and this is so much more than enough.”

He nodded, and she felt him relax against her. "Stay with me," she murmured. 

His reply was simple. "Yes."

And he did. 

**Author's Note:**

> They blew up the sword the next day. It was awesome.


End file.
